


Into Darkness

by newtntommy



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bonding, Evil, M/M, Mates, Mirror Universe, Soul Bond, Violence, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 14:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16430855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtntommy/pseuds/newtntommy
Summary: Jim Kirk finds another way to take over the galaxy.





	Into Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly guys I've had this idea in my head for months. It took me months to write it. I'm really proud of it, and I need to post it. I hope y'all don't hate it. It is basically dark porn. It's blood guts and porn pretty much. 
> 
> please comment your thoughts and leave kudos if you like it!

Horrific screams bounce off the walls in echoed whirlwind. Bright hues of red and blue dance on every surface of the building, calling out for aid that will never come. 

The soles of shoes crush glass with every step, as Spock observes the ruins of the palace of the Gatherers. A young female at the raw age of twenty-two now lies on a metal table with her upper body dangling above the ground. The distinctive crease on her forehead of her species now gores gray blood. Her blue eyes stare into a space to the right of Spock, and he analyzes by her wound and placement that it took approximately 5.45 minutes for her to bleed out. 

Her father lies dead five meters from her with a deep gash in his chest made by only a phaser on the highest setting, and Spock’s lip twitches at the sight. 

His t’hy’la has always been brutal at the highest degree. 

They had come to Acamar III to persuade the Acamarians to join the Federation. The Acamarians are a peaceful species, and Jim and him predicted a very easy agreement with little to no altercation. It started like that – Sovereign Marouk accommodating to their wishes. It may have been Acamarians innate need to maintain harmony among foreigners, whether it to be to their liking or not, or it was indeed the precarious state of the captain. 

Their last voyage was Tellar Prime – home of the Tellarites. They are naturally an argumentative species, which the members of the ISS are fully equipped with handling. Jim with his upbringing, spontaneous wits, and widespread of knowledge, Uhura with her ambiguous and skilled tongue of all languages, and Spock with his Vulcan logic capable to argue any point desired. Spock allows himself a speck of humor of the event if the good doctor, McCoy, had been present. Anyone who can successfully drag Jim Kirk to a medbay has an insufferable amount of strong wellbeing and sharp tongue. 

The meeting did not go adequately. Instead of being enthralled by Jim’s relentless retorts and comebacks to the Tellarites subtle remarks, they grew restless and challenged by his implacable words. A declaration of war erupted with one male striking at Jim’s neck, which was immediately countered with a Vulcan nerve pinch in retaliation. 

It was viewed as an authorization for war, and the following hour included the unfortunate steer to the declining of the Tellarite population from half a million to ten. The ISS Enterprise lost thirty crewmen, and the losses coerced Jim to hang the Tellarites leader by the neck on the tallest pole. A note was stuffed between his gaping teeth, promising to finish the last remaining members of their society if Starfleet were to hear from them again. 

Losing a crewman has never failed to spark a dangerous nerve inside the captain, flourishing a burst of malice that leaves Jim antsy and anxious. This wired state brings a sort of hysterical crew, avoiding Jim like the flu. Every word coming out with wide, avoiding eyes and hesitant lips. 

Doctor McCoy has accommodated the human phrase ‘seeing red’ to classify it. 

A distressed crew is a useless crew, so Spock follows Jim into his quarters to console him – the Vulcan declines every hint of amusement from McCoy that his steps are in any way faster than his normal speed. 

He also refuses to comment on his attire soon after, pulling his sleeves farther up his wrists as his blood betrays him in his ears and cheeks. He restrains a glare when the captain enters the bridge with beaming eyes and the restoration of his witty, vibrant personality. 

To the misfortune of the Gatherers, one hour of uninhibited sexual intercourse did not conclude in an extensive positive outcome. A mob of the rebellious Acamarians, called the Gatherers, surrounded them in seconds with ammo and spears, wanting nothing to do with joining the fleet. Jim immediately turned a 180 and grabbed a red shirt’s phaser, and then sliced one of their heads off. 

It was havoc, ending with hundreds of dead Gatherers on the ground. Spock peeks down at his hands, wondering how many people’s blood covers them. He remembers the fury in his bondmate’s face, finding himself wanting to watch his Jim fight furiously with everything in him. His advancements are something to be desired, every hit and kick exulting with power. 

At some point, Jim found a metal bar surely from a now broken piece of equipment. Spock had found his knees buckling as he watched the captain throw devastating blows, busting kneecaps and bones. It is when he noticed the beauty of Jim’s pure white skin spotted with dark, red splotches. The contrast was alluring. The only thing that forced Spock out of his trance was when he saw a decently sized Gatherer charging up to Jim with vengeance holding a weapon of his own. 

Spock’s own monster came out, and the beast slaughtered everything in sight and in range. 

Spock’s finger tingles, and he looks to the right in time to watch Jim walk into the room. Spock’s logical mind goes blank. 

Jim walks over to a table and puts down a bloodied spear. His hands are red like they have been dipped in a jar full of red paint. The blood is slightly clotted as it drips from his fingers; some of it merely touching the yellow threads of his uniform. 

Jim’s blonde hair is mildly unkempt, and Spock restrains from going over to brush through it. Jim peers up at him, and Spock knows he heard him. At least, by the dark look in Jim’s eyes, it shows he did. 

The flickering lights bring emphasis on Jim’s eye defect. The red hue glares into Spock, while its blue counterpart copies the action, but not holding nearly as much power. The blue was far too…fascinating and pure for it to do nothing but comfort. 

A grim smile toys at Jim’s lips, eyes flickering across Spock’s form before speaking, “Is that everyone?” 

“100% efficient, Captain,” Spock answers with a hoarse voice. He instinctively brings his hands behind his back in a professional stance. He straightens his back and juts out his chin, meeting Jim’s eyes dead-on. He takes note on a deep cut on Jim’s face near his right eye, and a burst of anger roars in his chest at the thought of someone harming his t’hy’la. He pushes the emotion down. 

The room is silent, but Spock hears chaos in Jim’s mind. Thoughts run a twenty a minute, and Spock telepathically soothes him by sending him calming signals. They are shaped as ropes, and he has to fight with Jim to help calm him. 

Jim’s jaw clenches before finally letting Spock tie him down. Spock sends warmth through the bond, using every bit of energy he has. Jim is naturally a vigorous human. He is experimental and takes risks, but he is smart about it. 90% of near-death experiences have been avoided by Jim’s uncivilized plans, that have a 23.45% chance of succeeding. It fascinates Spock sometimes with how little Jim Kirk would not do for his crew. 

Plus, Kirk fucks Spock hard into the mattress when they barely escape death. Spock reasons it’s adrenaline that causes Jim to want Spock underneath him as he ruthlessly chases his release. It can possibly be a human reaction and human need to control, when Jim could not control a mission gone wrong. Violently moving Spock into whichever position desired replaces that lost authority. 

What the logical reason is, does not matter, as long as Jim continues to do it with his ever-willing first officer. 

A familiar spark shines in Jim’s red eye, and Spock turns his head to focus on his surroundings. He locates the other landing party members. Uhura and Scotty are talking to the Acamarians, a yeoman is conversing with the transport team, and Bones is aiding a hurt crewman. By the sound of the doctor’s grunts, Spock can speculate that the wound is not life-threatening. 

Jim, able to hear what Spock detects, lifts an eyebrow in question, and Spock quickly assures him that the doctor is okay. The captain is furiously protective over the doctor, and Spock sends him calming energy through the bond. 

_T’hy’la, everyone is in good health_. 

Jim seems to consider this as he picks at his fingernails. A glob of crusted blood falls to the ground. 

He looks back at Spock and begins to walk over, and Spock maintains his stance. Jim is inches from him, and Spock waits for the inevitable. Warm hands skim over his waist in a teasing manner, and Spock finds it harder to breathe. 

The shield is up lightning fast, and Spock clamps his mouth shut to hold in his whine. Whining is illogical. Vulcans do not whine. Though, Spock calculates if a full-Vulcan would cry if one’s bond mate shields their mind from them. 

Fingers are suddenly in his hair, yanking his head to the side where lips nip and lick at his neck. Blood droplets and crusts dampen his black hair. He melts in his captain’s hold, clenching his fists as he refrains from touching. Jim hums in approval at Spock’s reaction, biting harsher on the other’s skin. 

“My good Vulcan,” Jim praises. Spock’s heart beats hard at his side, and his ears blush a harsh green. A rough hand grips his chin, pulling to bring their faces an inch apart. Spock wishes to kiss the captain, but he does not. Jim grins with dark eyes at Spock’s fleeting wish, shaking his head. 

Spock pushes to investigate for Jim’s mind, but he finds it still shielded. The blood on Jim’s hands rub off onto his face. Jim must like the look because he runs a red pinky along his jaw. Jim tightens his hold on Spock’s hair, and Spock works to keep his stance at the awkward angle. 

“Are you going to congratulate your captain for such a successful mission?” Jim asks with his lips fluttering against Spock’s cheek. Spock twitches under the hold, his eyes glancing down at the prominent bulge in Jim’s bloodied pants. 

“If only it is okay with you, Captain,” Spock takes the chance with teasing in his own way. Jim’s multicolored eyes shine with mischief at the obedience. 

Spock graciously falls to his knees with his eyes holding Jim’s stare. The action pleases his captain, as he leans back against a desk. Spock brings his once clasped hands to Jim’s body, sucking in a breath at finally touching his mate. Jim shielding his mind from him causes fierce loneliness, creating such a huge hole in his mind as it slowly eats him alive. Physically touching Jim treats him a slight bandage over the temporary wound. 

Jim likes him submissive, and Spock is more than willing to oblige. It is not hard falling into the role with how Jim makes him weak by temporarily shielding his mind from him, and then not allowing him to touch him. 

It was so easy falling accustomed to Jim’s needs, especially since he was t’hy’la, and they were born physically and mentally made for each other. Sometimes, though, Jim does push him to his extent. Jim had one time tied him down to the bed and left him there for three days with his shield up. Those had been the worst days of Spock’s life. The inability to move and the dark hole of the lost connection to his bond mate that grew every day pushed him to insanity. Spock was in tears with his whole body shaking by the time Jim returned to him. 

Jim made it up to him. Letting Spock kiss every square inch of him, and then bottoming for the first time in a year with Spock’s fingers glued to his psi spots. 

Spock hisses when his hair is tugged harshly. He shivers when the brutal treatment is soothed by fingers tickling his ears.

“You better get a move on, Spock. Would hate to get transported in the middle, and the crew see you on your knees for me,” Kirk purrs above him. 

Spock does not justify that statement with a response. He rather brings his fingers to Jim’s front, unbuttoning his pants. 

 

********

 

Spock enters the bridge, but halts mid-step when he is faced with nine children in the room. He raises an eyebrow when he notices captain Pike speaking quietly with Dr. Boyce with his hands sometimes doyly gesturing to the kids. 

Spock makes his way over to the captain. “Captain? I have an inquiry.” 

“Yes, Mr. Spock?” 

“Why are the children of Tarsus IV on the bridge. They are most suitable in the quarters or, perhaps, the medbay? It is far too dangerous for children under the age of sixteen to be in such close proximity of-“ 

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Spock. I’ll ask for your opinion on who is granted onto the bridge when it is needed,” Pike grits out. “Now, have you analyzed the exotic fungus? Have you classified it?” 

“Not yet, Captain, this fungus is quite fascinating. I have yet to find a vulnerable aspect of the organism. I assure you, I will inform you when I reach the answer,” Spock promises with a small glance towards the children. 

“Thank you, Spock,” the captain dismisses and resumes conversing with the doctor. Spock takes this chance to go to his station, reading the stats of the planet Tarsus IV, noting some factors that he earlier did not seem of importance. 

He falters in his scanning when he hears a small beep from beneath him. He takes a step backwards and analyzes the area until he gets to the communications desk to find a young human boy settled cozily underneath. His face is slightly hidden by a hoodie, but blonde hair peaks out from the opening. Spock notices the boy has a star map recorder in his lap. 

“That is not yours,” Spock announces. 

The boy hardly moves. He only lazily eyes up Spock. “It’s not yours either,” the boy simply responds. 

Spock’s lip twitches. “You need to return the item to its rightful owner,” he orders. 

“I don’t need to do anything. Besides, what’s a fourteen year old going to do with a star map recorder? Name the wrong star? Mark the wrong date of discovery?” the young human grumbles out. His eyes pierce into Spock, and the ensign finds the blue of his eyes remind him of the water on the planet Vulcan. 

“Your age is of no importance or significance,” Spock retorts with an even tone. “The owner may be in need of that stolen item.” 

The boy huffs, glaring daggers at the older boy. He tosses it away from him, and then crawls out of his hidden space and stomping over to the elevator with a snarky, “I’m out of here.” 

Spock picks up the device and places it in its rightful place without another look towards the boy. He has no intention to amuse the boy with a game of chase. If the younger male wishes to roam undiscovered territory, then he will do so. His level of intelligence seems to be tolerable, so the young boy will not get harmed. 

He is seconds away from venturing to the labs, but then Captain Christopher Pike accompanies him at his desk. “Mr. Spock?” 

Spock immediately straightens at his superior’s presence. “Yes, Captain?” 

“Have I gone blind, or did I just witness you talking to one of the young boys?” 

“Indeed, Captain, though-“ 

“Then, surely I did not see you let said young boy to wander around my ship, where a child can easily cause injury to himself or to the ship, itself?” 

Spock blanches. “Sir, I-“ 

“Nonsense talking, Spock. I have no time to talk about the acts of children. May I remind you, that you are an ensign. Replaceable. He is one of the witnesses of a mass murderer and somehow managed to survive a fungus infested planet. He saw Kronos with his own two eyes. He is essential to this mission. Go find him,” Pike orders with a wave of his hand. 

Spock watches Pike move to his chair before walking to the lift with his hands clasped behind his back. He orders to go to deck three, since that is one of the two decks that allow unauthorized figures on. The other deck is by human terms ‘not interesting’ since it consists of the crew’s quarters, which cannot hold the attention of a young human boy. 

The lift doors open in time for Spock to spot movement leading to the recreation room. He walks with soft steps to not startle the boy to run off to an alternative destination. 

He lets his presence known only when he walks into the room, and the boy surprises him by not even flinching. He hardly gives Spock a second thought. He quietly munches on some food leisurely in a chair. The hoodie on his head shields him from Spock’s line of vision. 

“You were not permitted to leave the bridge.” 

“Bite me.” 

Spock’s eyebrow twitches. “I do not comprehend your previous statement. I have no desire to bite you.” 

“I have no desire to follow you back to the bridge, where I sit there and wait for your Captain to decide which planet to drop me off at,” the boy retorts back. 

“The Captain is highly qualified and will find a suffice shelter for you, or our communications officer will get in contact with your original guardians. The latter is favorable because humans are found to be most tolerable when in presence of blood relatives.” 

“Humans?” the boy laughs dryly. “You wouldn’t want to go back to your parents over some strangers?” 

“A suitable environment with worthy sources is preferable,” Spock explains. “It is logical and has a higher percentage of survival than the simple desire for ‘comfort’.” 

“Man, wish I was Vulcan. It would be easier,” the boy comments with a roll of his eyes. Spock does not choose to respond to the statement. 

Making a logical conclusion that the boy was not going to go pliantly to the bridge, Spock decides to turn on the computer and sitting. He gets only two moves into a game of chess when the human boy comes over with a chess board and dropping it loudly on the desk and sitting with his chin on his knees. 

Spock’s lip twitches, intrigued. “What is the reasoning behind your actions?” 

The boy scoffs as he sets up the game. “What? Too much of a robot to play a logical game of chess with a human? Too scared to lose?” 

Spock turns off the computer and aims his full attention to the physical board. “I have not lost but two games in my life. Those games were with my father when I began learning to play.” 

The boy’s lips turn up. “Are all Vulcans cocky? Or is it just you?” 

“It was not my intention to be ‘cocky’ as you call it,” Spock declines. The boy goes first, who moves a pawn. He moves a pawn, as well. Spock makes no physical reaction when the boy surprisingly then moves his knight. “I was only justifying your loss to my experience.” 

“My fault. I actually meant egotistical bastard,” the boy corrects himself with a laugh. Spock does not respond to that, having no logical reason to do so. 

“Jim Kirk.” 

“Pardon?” 

“That’s the name of the boy who is about to kick your ass at the world’s most logical game, Spock.” 

Throughout the game, Spock finds himself out of his element. Not a single move did Jim make have any remote percentage of logic with it. When Spock pre-analyzes Jim’s goal, he soon finds out it was not his goal at all. He believes Jim is after his queen, but he realizes two moves later that Jim was after an insignificant pawn. Another move had Spock working to keep his king guarded, but then Jim goes after his bishop. 

There was no pattern. There are no priorities. There was no reason. He was able to check mate four times, but not before Jim check mates five of his spots. It was…fascinating. 

Spock began to see the survivalist inside Jim. It was as if Jim was using his Vulcan characteristics against him in order to win. No logical being would make the moves Jim made, but he was somehow winning. He was outsmarting every bit of knowledge Spock has of the game, and it brings a bubble of challenge within Spock. 

Was this how Kronos felt? 

“Jim, may I make an inquiry?” Spock asks curtly. 

Jim hums with a tilt of his head. “I guess after having your ass handed to you, I’ll let you ask a few questions.” 

Ignoring the bizarre imagery, Spock interrogates, “I am now aware how you survived your time on Tarsus IV. You have an essential ability to adapt to your surroundings, your enemies, opponents. You analyze and you speculate another route towards success.” 

Kirk furrows his eyebrows, seeming to withdraw from the conversation. “I don’t get how Tarsus IV has anything to do with chess.” 

“I in no way hinted my inquiries would relate to this recreation. You noted that I am Vulcan, and you used my logical mind against me by not being logical.” 

“I didn’t think about Kronos when I was trying to keep the other kids and I alive. I didn’t think-“ 

“Which is essentially why you are alive. That is how you outsmarted the fungus and Kronos. You proceeded to do what other people were not thinking to do. The other science officers and I have completed various amount of experiments on the organism, and no progress has been made. You survived this fungus for a month.” 

Jim now glares openly at the Vulcan. “I didn’t outthink anything, but Kronos. I didn’t do anything smart. I stole food from people. I stole what me and the other kids needed to survive. I didn’t care what anyone else needed.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow, then asked, “Do you propose trickery and cheating to be the superior way of survival? Fending for yourself?” 

Jim looks away, redness spreading across his cheeks. “I don’t propose of anything. I-I just…I think cheating can help. Being the fly on the wall. Using what information you have against your opponent.” 

“You appear to be opposed to your words,” Spock observes. Jim bites at his nails in what Spock notes in human behavior to be anxiety. “Jim, I do not intend to cause restlessness.” 

“My father is George Kirk of the Enterprise,” Jim bites out. “I don’t think how I feel about survival is shared with the great war hero’s perspective on winning wars.” 

“He found his own means of survival. You found your own,” Spock reasons. 

“My own survival led to me hurting people down there, Spock,” Jim grieves. Spock tilts his head. “I hurt a lady down there when she went to steal our food stash. I hit her head hard with a rock and then ran. I don’t even know what happened to her. I grabbed the kids and our things and fled. What kind of hero does that? You know what, though, Spock?” 

Spock stays silent. 

“I liked it, Spock,” Jim spits out with irritation. “I felt powerful. I felt in charge. What does that make of me? A psychopath? The antagonist to the story, rather than my father who was the protagonist?” 

“You saved your people and yourself by your actions. You succeeded at maintaining the life of your friends,” Spock argued. 

Jim shakes his head, eyes puffy and red. “You should’ve seen the look on a woman’s face when she saw me. She was scared of me. She said, ‘Take what you want. I don’t want any trouble.’ What kind of monster is told that?” 

“An alive one.” 

Jim looks up at Spock at that with wide eyes. Spock keeps his face steady, leaving no trace of judgement or dislike for Jim’s actions. Hearing Jim’s story has him reanalyzing his previous thoughts on survival. 

“Would you have wanted to be in Kronos’s place? Choosing who lives or dies?” 

Jim stays silent in his seat, not moving a muscle as if Spock never talked. Spock takes this as an answer. Spock nods, “It is logical. Picking the strongest soldiers in war leads to success in war. You would be an excellent captain.” 

Jim sucks in a breath at that, peering harshly at Spock as if it was a joke. He gives a dry laugh, “What? Would you want to be my first?” 

“I would take no other title,” Spock answers easily. 

Jim’s cheeks beam red again, but this time Jim tries to cover them. Spock urges to meet Jim’s eyes, finding himself wanting to look nowhere else. He would serve no other captain. He will make sure of it. 

He stands and walks around the table to sit next to Jim, who shifts backwards. “What are you doing?” 

“I am going to initiate a mind meld, so we will meet again in the future. I will not do so if you disapprove, so please, say your peace.” 

Jim startles onto his feet with his hands displayed out. “Woah! Mind meld? I don’t want you in my head!” 

“I will not in anyway read your thoughts. I will only meld one link between us, and it will make me drawn to your location once you are at Starfleet. I will not go far into your mind. You will only experience a tug and then there will be silence as the link settles,” Spock explains. 

“What, like some weird ass location tracker?” Jim sputters out, but his body language appears to be untensing, which Spock finds promising. 

Spock’s eyes flicker away uncomfortably at the crude term, but seeing no significant difference. “Precisely…but it will act more similar to an emergency signal. For example, if you were to enter a science lab on this ship, you will set off a signal that will tell me to come to you. I will have no way in knowing where you are until you reach the proximity.” 

Jim considers it for a moment, and Spock waits patiently for an answer. He cannot help but desire to touch Jim’s mind. From the intelligence to the spontaneity of the way Jim’s person works will overwhelm his logical mind, and he finds himself attracted to the uniqueness. 

Spock nods when Jim slowly sits back down in his chair and swivel to face him. Spock brings their chairs closer, and he watches with a blank look as Jim brings his face closer. Spock brings a hand up and sets his fingertips in their required locations. 

“My mind to your mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts…” 

The meld hits him like no other. Jim’s mind is a rainbow of colors, blasting blue to yellow to green at different angles. He stays put on the outside, respecting Jim’s limits and not wanting to intrude. He feels Jim around him, and he dismisses him. Letting him experience the energy of mind melding. He peers around for a suitable bond link, taking in the fact that he was right with his theory. Jim’s mind was extravagant. No other mind can ever compare. 

He makes a move to link himself to a small bind, but then his eye catches sight on a bright gold link, buzzing with energy and light. It calls Spock like a siren, drawing him in, and Jim’s mind lets him. He experiences the emotions of dread, loneliness, confusion, and joy. None of the emotions belong to him, and he sends comfort through the meld without another thought. 

He spots a hidden black mass entangled with bright colors. Spock watches as the black string tries to reach out through the openings. Before it can go far, the other binds pull it back in. 

Spock walks closer, and he is hit with strong, angry emotions, and Spock finds them intriguing. He reaches out towards a particular dark link. His fingertips are an inch away when his childhood memories come out from the shadows. 

_Look at those human eyes._

_You’re neither human or Vulcan, so therefore, have no place in this universe._

Spock fights for breath, never having to experience such emotions since he was nine years of age. The faces of his childhood bullies bore into his memories harshly, causing Spock to choke back an emotional outburst. 

The urge to fight, scream, and shout pump through his body, and it shocks his system. He realizes his hand is fully submerged into the ominous cloud of dark thoughts, and Spock removes his hand. 

The lack of anger is something to be missed once he steps back, and Spock stares at it in wonder. He questions why it is here. Its profound dark, lethal energy is alluring, and Spock wonders if this is the reason Kirk likes what he did back on Tarsus IV. 

_**What does that make me? A psychopath?**_

Spock peers longingly at the black binds, when suddenly he’s slammed with the satisfying emotions he experienced when he attacked one of his bullies. He felt so powerful. No one messed with him after that. No one else talked to him in fear that he would unleash his emotions onto them. The power surged in him for days, even though he worked hard to fight them, but why did he? 

He felt nothing else like it since then. He hasn’t felt that sort of power since then, and why hasn’t he allowed himself? He got what he wanted. No one else messed with him. His classmates were scared of him, and that is what he wanted. He wanted the bullies to leave him alone, and they did once he unraveled his anger and fury and released them onto his classmates. 

This is what Kirk felt. This is not wrong. This is survival. Putting fear into others led to the desired outcome. 

This is what Starfleet needs. 

He grabs a handful of the black binds, yanking them through the opening. Incredible energy swarm his senses. 

_Terror must be maintained or the Empire is doomed._

_**Spock? What’s going on?** _

_I will be out in a minute, Jim. I promise._

He watches as the now freed bit of the black mass floats in the air, tracing behind an electric line of bright lights. The ominous power intensifies, and Spock changes his direction toward the bright, gold bind. It meets him in the middle, stretching out towards him. 

The strength of his overpowering emotions yearn for him to reach for the bond. The effect makes him dizzy, and he dazedly reaches out and touches it. 

It immediately surrounds him, taking him in, and Spock fights for air as he realizes what exactly it is. 

_T’hy’la. My friend. My brother. My lover._

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

The next moment he finds himself on the cold ground with Jim kneeled above him, slightly shaking him. “Spock! Are you alright? What happened?” 

Spock experiences extreme worry, and he knows it is not him. He slams a shield up to restrain Jim from realizing what he did. He gasps as the shield shuts Jim out of his mind, and he clenches his fists in order to not shake. 

Jim furrows his eyebrows, internally thrown around, but he shakes his head. Spock clears his throat, “I apologize for my actions. Our minds are…not any short degree compatible, so it took massive amount of energy on my part to extract from your mind.” 

He did not lie. They are completely compatible in every way at every angle. 

Jim’s facial expression deflates at that, but he gives a snort. “Hope that gets better. Can’t have a captain and first not being compatible.” 

“I agree, Jim Kirk.” 

 

**********

Jim Kirk leans against his chair, paying no mind to the rambling Cardassian on the screen. He signals over to Sulu, who instantly gets the hint and calls the security deck. The Cardassian does not seem to notice the exchange, and Jim blames the alien’s need to dominate a conversation. It’s a certain quality that Starfleet no longer grants with ease, and Jim takes a sip of his coffee. 

He clears his throat and waves to silent the legate. The older male glares, refusing to cease talking in order to continue arguing for his species right to decline joining the Federation. 

“I think we both know we are not here for one sole purpose,” Jim interrupts the legate. His voice is deep and powerful, and the Cardassian tenses defensively. Jim ignores it. “We are secondarily here because of your refusal to join our fleet, which only a complete moron decides to do.” 

The older leader parts his lips to speak, but Jim is quicker. “We are primarily here because of the fact that your people attacked one of ours,” Jim grits out with haunted eyes. 

The Cardassian sneers, “They came to our planet-“

“With a peaceful purpose. They did not even have phasers on them. They didn’t have a slim chance, did they?” Jim bites in retort. “Now, I have heard your pity excuses, and I find you guilty. Therefore, I deem it as a call for war and don’t worry because I grant it.” 

Gray eyes pierce into him, and he can practically smell the dread dripping off him. The corner of Jim’s lip rises at the hint of hesitancy on the alien’s face. 

It would be a good war. It would result in thousands of deaths due to their technology being fairly equal. The Cardassians are known for their powerful starships, especially their Keldon-class. He’s read books on them, and Jim envies their defined aft wings and large pods. Also, their small attack crafts are incredibly destructive and hold ferocious power in groups similar to how wolves are in a pack. Jim loves a good challenge. 

Though, Jim would happily charge with guns blazing while Cardassians are still grounded. It would be an effective blow, but it would not be incredibly fair. 

Good thing he’s not known to be fair. 

“I have seen footage of the last time the ISS Enterprise attacked an unwilling colony,” the legate tests. “You shot at them with phasers on kill with no warning. I am not naïve to say that you would not replicate those actions on us.” 

Jim giggles, causing Chekov to share a glance with Uhura, who sits comfortably at her desk. She twirls her red hair in amusement. 

_Our guest is in his required placement, Captain._

“I sure hope not, not while being legate of your people,” Jim teases with a wide grin. He hears the smooth glide of the lift doors open, and a familiar thrum in the back of his mind tells him who it is. He peers around to find Spock and Bones on both sides of his chair. Spock greets him with a nonchalant stare – a smile only meant for Jim, while Bones nods at him. Jim smiles at the Cardassian. 

“You know what?” Jim sing-songs. “I’ll let you join the Federation now, and we won’t wipe out your species.” 

Bemusement flickers in the man’s eyes. “May I ask how you would wipe out my entire species?” he asks haughtily. “I strongly doubt Starfleet has reached such a level of mistreatment amongst species. I am also aware you think highly of your crew. I only hope you realize just how much danger my people will bring upon them. Humans have a knack for protecting the ones they love.” 

A sinister smile spreads over Jim’s features, and he swings idly in his chair. The arrogance of the enemy thrives him, nerves jumping sporadically along his skin. It prospers an itch that strongly goads him to scratch, until the point of insanity. 

Serenity washes over him as if he had called for it, and it pleases him with the need for order and patience. It guides the darkness of his thoughts to a plate of logic, transforming the chaotic disorganization into a more grounded one. 

He can feel Spock scrutinizing the madness of his head, picking apart thoughts and bindings. Jim tenses the moment he catches a thread of tranquility seeping into him, and he shoves it away defensively. Spock freezes. 

_T’hy’la, please, do not mistaken my actions for one of intruding. I only request to help._

_**You are prohibiting me from fulfilling my mission.**_

_Dr. McCoy is observing your heartrate. I can calculate a 98.99% chance he will intervene and as you put it, ‘Hypo your ass to next week’._

Jim turns his head and confirms with a frown and watchful blue eyes aimed towards him that Spock was telling the truth. He childishly glares at the tricorder in his best friend’s hands before turning to look at the Cardassian once more. 

“If you do not accept our invitation to the Federation, you will face my wrath,” Jim announces with his harsh captain tone. The Cardassian flinches under his cold stare, and Jim’s fingers tremble with excitement. He mentally relaxes into Spock’s calm embracement, using it as leverage and guidance. 

“I have a blood-related member of your species placed on a transporter pad. Only my word will prevent my dear engineer, Scotty, from transporting the poor bastard to your planet’s surface in what is it, Commander, 6.32 minutes?” 

“6.30 minutes, Captain.” 

The legate’s jaw tenses, and he grits, “Unlike the human species, the Cardassians can settle for losing one-“ 

“You will not be losing one, but all of your species,” Jim interrupts with ominous glee. He waves over to McCoy, “My good doctor, here, has cooked up a mean disease, deadly with a mean kick. I fear for how long exactly it takes for the disease to exterminate your entire species.”  
The look on the Cardassian’s face is glorious, and Jim preens under the fear on the man’s face. The golden hairs on his arms rise, and a warm, sensual shiver runs down his spine. He hums as he listens to the numerous whispers radiating from the screen. He cracks his neck, sucking in a deep breath before turning to look over at his communications officer. 

“Lieutenant Uhura, display the footage from the transporter room on the screen,” Jim orders smoothly with a wink. 

Uhura grins with a knowing spark in her eye, “Right away, Captain.” 

With a flick of her wrist, a separate screen assembles onto the front. A Cardassian female appears on the screen. She sits with her back pressed against the wall, and her head back. Agony covers her facial features, and her legs and arms lie limply on the ground. Her gray, scaled skin is dark, yet pale. Sweat covers her body, and her chest hardly shows any signs of breathing. 

Upon her face, lies a red, flaming abscess. It grows bigger by the minute, spreading rapidly along her cheek and near her eye. Smaller boils form along the main blister, and her breath hitches every time a blister grows. 

The Cardassians riot on the screen. 

The legate rises in his seat, the camera following him. His scaled eyebrows are curved in, his teeth sharp and biting. “What is the meaning of this? Let her-“ 

“We very much plan on letting her go, legate, though I highly doubt you want her to come down to your planet,” Jim interrupts. He reaches down to his boots, fingering for the item he keeps hidden inside. He withdraws, catching the eye of the Cardassian. 

Jim grins at the well-earned horror and anger settle in the other man’s eye, running a fingernail over the sharp edge of his dagger. He idly uses the sharp point to scratch his shin. 

“Symptoms involve nausea and retching as your insides begin to burn and digest themselves,” McCoy speaks up from beside Jim’s chair, leaning on it slightly. Jim can hear a vain smirk on his lips as he talks. 

Bones never failed at exploiting anyone’s weaknesses and bringing great pain to them. 

The Cardassian bangs his fist on his desk, and Jim can hear the crack of the metal. “You will heal her!” 

Bones tilts his head smugly. “The skin is the next to go, rotting into a diseased shell. Nails break off, face caves in. Warts begin to form, causing blindness as the illness festers and proceeds to form into incredibly contagious larvae-“ 

“Cease this course of action!” the legate demands with a hitching breath. Jim flips his dagger. 

“As larvae forms in the skin, it will soon eject from the host. Mere contact with anyone will cause their death as well,” McCoy finishes with a sinister grin. He makes eye contact with Spock. “How long did I say it will take for death, Commander Spock?” 

“3 hours and 32 minutes, doctor.” 

“Ah, right.” 

Disorderly conduct of anger and confusion erupts on the other side of the call, but Jim pays no mind. “Spock, calculate how long it will take for the death of all Cardassians living on the planet.” 

“Thirteen days and four hours, Captain.” 

“No seconds, Commander?” 

“38 seconds, sir.” 

Jim, never ceasing eye contact with the Cardassian leader, gives him a wide grin. He nonchalantly flips his dagger. He pouts when he spots old, crusty blood remaining on the metal. Someone forgot to clean it. He cannot remember the name of the ensign in charge of the clean up from the last mission. 

_Ensign Charles Becker, ashayam._

_**Huh. That’s too bad. He was a master at getting spots out of my gold shirts. Hate to lose a handy guy.**_

_I will lose a promising science assistant._

“You are a disgrace for the human species.” 

“Promise?” Jim snides. He takes a moment to send warmth and calm when he is suddenly spiked with anger coming from Spock through the bond. He lets Spock scour his mind for hints of distress for a second, acknowledging that Vulcans take the welfare of their bond mates seriously, and that Spock will soon grow agitated. “Scotty, I believe it’s time to dismiss our guest!” 

“No!” the legate cries out in fury. 

Jim raises an eyebrow. “An order? You are in no place to throw orders.” 

“Captain Jim Kirk, we officially accept your offer to join Starfleet,” the legate announces through gritted teeth. Jim spots the fear and torment in the man’s eyes, and it only stirs his abrupted dark laugh. 

“I, Jim Kirk, firmly decline and withdraw your offer to join Starfleet. As you have expressed earlier, you would never join Starfleet. Starfleet is not known to ask twice,” Jim hums leisurely as if they were speaking of the weather. 

“Your species is of no importance, and we will retrieve sources elsewhere,” Jim continues, ignoring the way the Cardassians were yelling for their mercy. He hooks a leg over the other to get comfortable, completely waving off everything the other male was saying. 

Then, the legate looks at Spock. 

“You, Vulcan, how are you allowing this? Is it truly logical to not allow a species to die only to keep their way of life? Is that a logical reason?” 

Spock straightens his stance, gripping onto his wrists behind his back. His face is stern as he speaks, “If you are trying to urge me to commit mutiny by betraying my Captain, you are never to succeed. As of the logistics of the ending of your species, I see no consequence. Fear maintains the confederation. It would be considered mutiny for Captain Kirk to not follow the confederation’s code.” 

“I thought Vulcans believed violence was illogical,” the Cardassian hisses. “You belong to the world of Vulcans. Why have you let such an emotional, illogical human stir you to put your back to your species?” 

“I do not belong to Vulcans,” Spock states with ease. “I belong to Captain Jim Kirk.” 

Jim peers up at his first officer, bringing his dagger up and flicking a small hook to extend the weapon. It reaches the tip of Spock’s chin, and he smoothly forces Spock to meet his eye. 

The Vulcan appears calm, but Jim’s mind is spinning with affection and respect from his bond mate. He experiences on a firsthand bases how dedicated his lover was to him, and it fuels him. To have someone completely dedicated to you, and to know that they admire you from inside and out is impeccable. The fact that Spock knows him better than anyone he’s ever known, and owns him in every way imaginable. It was insatiable. 

His fingers dance among the arm of the chair, pressing the one button in mind. “Kirk to Scotty.” 

“This is Scotty.” 

“I believe it’s time to deliver our gift. Send her down nice and gently.” 

“Aye, sir.” The communication ends. 

“Bones!” 

“Don’t have to yell, you idiot. I’m right here,” Bones huffs from behind him. Jim grins when Bones rolls his eyes. Only he can get away with that. 

He takes notice to Bones’ haircut and sees that it swoops up, allowing for the deep, long scar through his right eye to be on display. It makes the CMO look badass and terrifying, if you managed to not see the deadly hypospray glued to his hand for warfare. 

“Good work, Bones, you never disappoint me,” Jim praises with a wide, cocky smile. 

Bones scoffs with a wave and turns around, “You wouldn’t survive without me, kid.” 

“True,” Jim agrees with a shrug. Bones enters the turbolift, returning back to his madhouse. 

Jim returns his attention back to Spock, not batting an eyelash at the onslaught of demands coming from the screen. Orders to hail the security department for defense against the uncontrollable disease now rotting in their open field in the left quadrant.  
He murmurs for Uhura to mute the call, and also transferring the conn over to Sulu. He slides his blade into his boot, leaving the chair for the turbolift. “Mr. Spock, accompany me?” 

“Very well, Captain,” Spock quickly agrees, following after his bond mate. 

Jim moves to allow Spock more space once the door closes. Neither one of them say anything, the tension growing with every second. Jim scrutinizes the aura of the bond, teasing the outskirts. His eyes venture down to Spock’s hand, sending out images of him sucking those long fingers. 

The result is satisfactory, causing Jim to smirk. The green tint on his lover’s cheeks elevates his confidence, flashing another image of licking slowly up Spock’s pointer finger. 

_Captain._

_**Yes?** _

_You are displaying inappropriate behavior._

_**Are you going to punish me for it, Commander?** _

Spock’s jugular bobs nervously, and Jim schools his features to hide his amusement with how human Spock is reacting. He loves breaking Spock’s stoic demeanor. He is the only one who can tear the Vulcan’s uptight disposition and poise to shreds. It gives Jim ultimate power over his alien bondmate, just like how Spock has his control over Jim in his own way. 

Once he hears the ding, Jim is out of the lift with Spock at his heels. The journey is tensed with frustration mixed with Spock’s eagerness for what awaits. 

The tension bubbles like a volcano once they reach Jim’s quarters, the doors closing with a ‘swoosh’. Jim resists the urge to meet his bondmate’s eye. He was becoming a pro at reading his very human emotions. In some cases that was an advantage. Especially when it comes to a strained environment, deciding whether speaking of peace was best, or a war was the only way for everyone to get what they want. Spock being able to read Jim’s features – and thoughts for that matter – was an important asset for their survival. 

It is also crucial in situations like this one – sexual laced with mystery. Spock reading him and vice versa helps them both read each other’s wants and meeting them to the point of climax. 

Jim walks farther into the room, leaving Spock to stand alone near the door. Jim proclaims his lock on the door, which only the CMO can override. 

Imagining Bones walking in on them makes Jim nearly laugh. 

Jim turns around, eyeing his CO with a grin on his lips. Spock was standing good for him. Tall and quiet, waiting for Jim’s instructions. Jim loves him like this. 

“Mr. Spock, turn around,” Jim begins. 

Spock raises a pointed eyebrow before nodding, “Yes, Captain.” 

He silently turns around, folding his hands behind his back. Jim takes a moment to observe his bondmate’s curvy backside. He wonders if the marks from last night are still on the Vulcan’s hips. 

Jim takes a step closer, not caring to stay quiet due to Vulcan’s sensitive hearing. He notices how tight Spock is holding onto his wrist. 

“Remove your shirt, Commander,” Jim orders haughtily through his teeth. He takes a slow, yet long breath when he catches an eyeful of green-tinted skin peeking through the now visible black undershirt and pants. He smiles smugly when he sees dark red scratches. 

He shortens their distance, flexing his fingers before taking hold on the glorified black shirt. He slowly peels back the garment, revealing the shiny, black lettering on the green, blemished skin. 

Spock finishes the work, removing the shirt from his body and dropping it on the floor. His chin is jutted out, aimed to the ceiling as if to show his last remaining dignity. 

Jim pauses to shut off the bond, shielding his thoughts and emotions from Spock’s awareness. He sees Spock’s chin grind, never okay with not being connected to Jim. Jim finds the sensation arousing, teasing the both of them. It pulls them together, wanting desperately to be one again, but never quite reaching there until the very end. The bond between them teases the edge of their minds, taunting each other with fulfillment. 

It was when they can’t handle another moment apart, clutching on to each other for dear life. Oxygen almost completely withdrawn from their lungs, nerves on fire, moans illegible, is when they finally give in to their cravings and let their minds become one again. Climaxing in sync. 

Jim runs a finger lightly over the lines, tracing from top to bottom. The touch creates shivers to run down Spock’s body, and Jim’s cock twitches in his pants. He glares darkly at the back of Spock’s neck. 

“Tell me what this says. Tell me what is burned on you.” 

Spock’s head tilts down a fraction of a degree, and Jim can feel Spock mind reaching out for him. Jim shuts him down, mentally pushing him to speak. 

Jim doesn’t believe Spock will answer him, which is enduring because that will only cause him to force Spock to speak like he has done in the past. 

That was an amazing night. Jim said he could force Spock to speak no matter how in control the Vulcan is over his body. It was a fun game. 

Spock’s voice had been scratchy and hoarse from screaming Jim’s name for an hour straight. Every heated touch, smack, and moans brought Spock closer to a delirious state. He was almost unrecognizable. Jim never felt so horny in his life. 

The Vulcan has said nothing, and Jim hums as he digs a fingernail in Spock’s lower back. He grins when Spock gasps. “What does it say, Spock?” 

“James T. Kirk.” 

Jim massages the spot he dug into with his thumb in reward, “Who marked you with it?” 

He can practically hear the muscles clenching in Spock’s face and arms, and he wants to laugh. Spock trying to control himself around him is so cute. It only spurs Jim on. 

“Who…” Jim whispers thickly. He runs his finger down Spock’s back to the top of Spock’s pants. He teases along the edge, and he hears Spock’s breath hitch. “Marked you…” 

He takes his finger to his lips to moisten it before bringing it down and runs it down, gradually moving down to Spock’s hole. He puts the tip of his finger inside. 

“With. It?” 

Spock’s voice booms and rushes out of him like a waterfall, “You did!” 

Jim flickers an image of Spock stripping for him through their bond before cutting off again, and Spock follows through immediately. As soon as Spock removes his clothing, Jim presses himself against his mate’s back, forcing him to the wall. He uses his other arm to trap Spock on the wall, and he runs his tongue on Spock’s skin, tracing the dark Vulcan letters. He goes a step more, pushing his finger more into his mate. 

The moans he gets in response is music to his ears. The way Spock trembles in his hands, leaning on the wall now with Jim’s name on his lips. 

“You’re so good to me, Mr. Spock,” Jim grunts out. He moves his fingers upwards, where he feels for the Vulcan’s genital pouch, sliding his fingers along the moist inner surface of the sheath. Spock’s cock already reveals itself from the stimulation. Jim strokes him twice to full hardness, quickly moving back to insert two fingers in his tight heat. He begins to scissor his fingers, and he holds Spock when he notices his legs quiver. 

“J-Jim,” Spock chokes out. He leans on the wall with frantic breath, arching his back. Jim scissors and digs deep, searching for the certain spot that has Spock losing all logic in his Vulcan body. 

It’s when he angles his fingers just so, with he addition of his tongue, that Spock jolts in his hold. Deep, uncontrollable moans fill the room. A Chesire cat grin grows on Jim’s lips, using his free hand to reach around. It only takes three strokes before Spock reaches orgasm, falling apart in Jim’s hands. 

Jim jumps back on his feet in a hurry, turning his mate around and crowding into his space. He smashes their lips together, snaking his tongue into the heated kiss. He tilts Spock’s head by his black, bowl-cut hair, bringing his lips down his jawline and to his neck. Hands grab onto his waist when he starts lightly biting to create a dark green hickey on the Vulcan’s clavicle. 

The imagery of his first officer mate having not only his name marked on his skin, but also have hickeys unknowingly hidden under his science blues during diplomatic missions, brings Jim to unbelievable hardness. His nerves are on fire, and he claws at Spock’s frame as he ruts against his leg. 

Jim can feel his climax approaching within his reach. Heat bubbles in his lower abdomen, and his mind floats. He lets his walls down, and he is hit mentally with Spock. Spock is everywhere. Holding him close, surrounding all his senses, multiplying his pleasure by hundreds. A moan escapes his lips, “Spock, Spock, Spock-“ 

“T’hy’la, I am here. I ashaya du,” Spock drawls in hot, bated breath. Jim gasps when Spock melds with him, throwing all his emotions toward him. It is when he hears Spock speak fully in his native language, he cums with a jolt. He sees stars similar to the ones he sees every day on the brig. 

The room is filled with only the sounds of their breathing and sweet nothings. It’s been awhile since Jim let himself be this affectionate with his mate, but he’s surprised every day with how Spock makes him feel and how loyal he is. It makes him vulnerable, which makes him weary. 

He’s done a shit ton of terrible things to get to where he is now. He did not become Captain easily. He did not graduate the Academy faster than anyone has ever done in the past easily. He fought for his survival with everything in him. He is ruthless. He is known throughout the galaxy as the most barbarous, brutal Captain. 

He cannot be seen as weak, and Spock makes him bare to an enemy if they are to be found out. Though, in this moment, he can pretend he has nothing to fear. He does not have to have his guard up, because Spock has again and again proven his loyalty and love. 

You can’t have one without the other. Spock was the only person he trusts his body and mind with, and it was vice versa. 

There was no separating them. They will take on the galaxy together. 

************

Cries and screams ricochet off the walls of the Spotolians ship. The ground shakes with racing crew members of both ships. Red shirts and yellows shirts cover the grounds with ferocity, attacking any blue man they see. 

The Spotolians are a very high functioning alien species with technology more advanced than 75% of the Federation. Their ship was slick and fast, and it was only at the hands of Scott Montgomery that the Enterprise was able to catch up to them. 

Though, it wasn’t exactly the beautiful Enterprise, itself, who caught up, but the crewmen beamed aboard. When their atoms returned back into their original structure, Captain Kirk and nine red shirts were immediately bombarded with the blue aliens. 

The aliens’ bodies are skinny and blue all over, with exception of their eyes which are red as the planet Vulcan. They can will their bodies to produced slime to gain the power to stick to any person or surface. They are fast-thinkers, and they have a loud, screeching scream that can cause deafness to any weak species. 

They also have an obscene amount of iron in their blood. Montgomery Scott’s assistant, Keenser, had an enlightening couple hours with Dr. McCoy. They chemically engineered a device, that efficiently moves the metal with free will. When they landed, they were able to turn a force field on, effectively shoving the Spotolians back a hundred feet. 

Jaylah, an amazing audio engineer, created an immovable set of headwear that would protect the eardrums of the crew. It was nearly impossible to take off without the wearer doing so. The only downfall being that the screams can still warrant imbalance of their prey, so the crew was deemed to pair up in case of trouble. 

“Captain!” 

Uhura’s shrill catches Jim’s attention instantly, and he dodges the impending blast by a mere two seconds. He turns to the Lieutenant and finds her armed with a foreign weapon in her small hands. She twists and aims spot-on to an approaching alien, flicking her wrist and shooting a massive light beam. It tears through the alien’s throat, decapitating with a clean cut. 

Jim whistles, impressed, “Fine job, Lieutenant. Any idea when they will realize we’re kind of awesome?” 

Uhura rolls her eyes, pivoting her body to grab a Spotolian’s outreached arm and bending it down. It creates a sound so sinister, and it’s followed by the alien screaming in pain. The dark woman spins around – midway grabbing her favorite dagger – and thrusting it into her opponent’s groin. She takes back her weapon and turns back to Jim. 

Knowing what he means, she responds, “Their Supreme most likely sees the danger she is in, now that she realizes how powerful and becoming we are. Since the Spotolians favor superiority, they will turn against her within the hour, Captain. Compared to when we landed, I haven’t seen many of our crew dead.” 

Hearing the ominous sound of padded slick feet, Jim turns around to blast an approaching alien. “These guys are such book nerds. Not one of them makes spontaneous moves. I’m surprised Terrans haven’t stopped them in the past.” 

Uhura laughs, “Is that your way of implying how your fighting style is unbeatable yet again?” 

“Is that what I’m saying?” Jim gawks in a teasing manner. He shoots a Spotolian with a cocky grin, and Uhura rolls her eyes. She dashes off in the direction she saw Chekov go – her hair swinging behind her. 

She turns a corner with her gun out, and Jim tenses when he notices a blue alien crawling up behind her on the wall. Jim twists his body in alarm, firing his weapon with a call of her name. It hits the figure head on. 

Jim calls out in victory, though, it ends with a demanding blow. He’s propelled across the hallway, and his body dents part of the wall. Pain erupts on his orbital surface, and he loses complete eyesight in his left eye. He collapses to the ground with both of his hands over his wound. He lets out a loud howl of pain. He can no longer hear, except for the white noise around him from being struck. 

Someone towers over him, and small, dainty hands run over his face and upper body. He stops from instinctively attacking her. He gets the sense that she’s talking to him, but his right side of his face feels as if it’s on fire. 

He has no recollection of the time, but he knows exactly when Bones gets there. His tough, hairy hands replace Uhura’s, and his own hands are forced away from his face. He begins to hyperventilate at the lack of sight. In his left eye he sees the phantom figure of his best friend, and he internally groans at the numerous hyposprays in his hands. 

Before he can open his mouth, his head begins to pound fiercely. He knows immediately it’s Spock. It usually doesn’t hurt to feel his presence, but from the pain in his eye to Spock’s powerful fear and concern for him, he wouldn’t be surprised if his head explodes from the pressure. 

He doesn’t comprehend that he’s falling until an unrelenting grip keeps him upright. 

“Come on, Jim, you can fall unconscious when I disinfect your wound.” 

“Bo-Bones..” Jim grumbles under his breath. He makes another incomprehensible sound when something stabs him in the neck twice. His remaining sight goes foggy, and he can no longer perceive the burn on his face. 

Pressure flowers in his injury, finally cutting off Spock and his worry. Spock needs to focus on their ship and not on him where Bones has it handled. 

His concentration fades away to where he can only see colors. The pain is gone, and he is thankful for that. The ground flies from beneath his feet, and he falls backwards with Spock’s name on his lips. 

“I need an alive Spotolian stat! The one who gets one to me first gets unlimited ice cream every day for a month.” 

***

Jim wakes tranquilly similar to an ocean breeze: calm and gentle. Silence surrounds him the more he wakes up, and he groggily opens his eyes. 

Something inhibits him from experiencing anxiety when he can only see with one eye. He peers around and finds a part of his curtain parted. He spots the person next to his space with burnt, bloody skin throughout his body. He looks to be in excruciating pain, and the longer he’s awake, he can hear maniacal laughter darkly sweeping in the medbay. 

“Captain.” 

The drugs coursing through his system slows down his movement. He eventually turns his head around and finds Spock standing right next to him. His brown eyes are round and focused with a tint green splotch underneath. His shoulders are stiff and on edge. His jaw is so tensed, it probably hurt. His normal bowl-cut hairdo was not as finely straight and smooth as usual, and his whole appearance alarms Jim. 

Fuck those who say Vulcans are emotionless. 

He finds his voice deep down, and he croaks, “Spock. What happened?” 

Spock straightens, “A Spotolian shot a .357 magnum bullet at your oculus dexter. It shattered your optic nerves in your right eye. The bullet traveled through your skull and out your occipital bone, Captain.” 

Jim hums, “Shot in the head, huh? That’s cool.” 

Spock tilts his head and his eyebrows furrow in distaste and confusion. Jim chuckles, “Do I get to wear an eye patch for the rest of my life? I’ll be a space pirate.” 

Spock gives no answer, rather increases the distance between the two of them. His shoulders are stiff and his jaw is tense. His dark eyes manage to give off the illusion of a glare tied together with detachment. 

Jim frowns at his mate’s composure. It reminds him of when they had taken shore leave on the Orion planet six months ago. Jim had wanted Spock to join him at one of the bars to dance and drink which will then ultimately result in ruthless, passionate sex, but Spock has never been a fan of disreputable establishments. Spock decided to spend the evening with Lieutenant Uhura, in which Jim can only guess consisted of enhancing their new translators or joining in unison with the art of the Vulcan lyre. 

Nothing of which Jim was interested in. He stubbornly went on to the sleeziest get-up in town with Bones grudgingly tagging along – only to keep Jim alive or to flush out the sounds of his awful ex-wife shrieking that he will never see his beloved daughter again. Jim wasn’t quite sure which. Bones complained about both. 

Jim had caressed five cups of Romulan ale with Bones’ cautionary words swimming in his head. Jim knows Spock does not appreciate Jim being inebriated, but so what? He was spending the night with Uhura. That was his fucking problem. 

So when Jim came busting through the door reeking of alcohol and pheromones, and his neck spotted with hickeys from clingy Orions, who declared him the hottest captain in the galaxy, Spock was not happy. 

Do not let people lie to you about Vulcans not having emotions because they do. Their emotions might be shot up by 589423% because a jealous, angry Vulcan was the fucking worst. It took Jim three weeks for Spock to damn look at him, and that was only because Jim deliberately made eye contact with Spock as he swallowed two pine nuts and his ability to breathe was cut off afterwards. 

Bones has a prolonging nickname for him as the “Most Dramatic Bitch” – with Spock being “Second Most Dramatic Bitch” and Jim was nice enough not to let Bones down. 

This tantrum was considerably different though. Spock might appear to have a rod up his ass with the worst stink eye, but he wasn’t fleeing the scene. He was far enough to prohibit touching, but he was close enough to make his presence known. 

It wasn’t enough for Jim. His brain has been through the slicer and then doused with morphine, but he tries hard to telepathically reach for Spock and – 

_**Son of a bitch.**_

There was a metal gate around Spock with not a crack to be seen. Jim drives hard into the mental barricade to no avail, and it only results in a headache. He humorlessly mentally kicks childishly at it next, but he’s startled when a force shoves him back. 

He growls, “Spock-“ 

The scraping of a curtain being yanked stops Jim’s outburst like ice. He’s met with Bones’ glare. Through the years, Jim has made a rank of his chief medical officer’s glares. It starts from ‘I hate you but I love you’ and ‘why am I friends with you’ to ‘how have I not strangled you to death?’ 

Jim panics when he sees that the glare on Bones’ face was the glare that went above the list. The glare that would make a Klingon piss his pants. 

It was the ‘The literally only reason you are still alive is because your boyfriend would shred me to pieces’ glare. With a quick glance to Spock has Jim confirming that his supposed bond mate wouldn’t necessarily respond as fast as he would during a normal day of his recklessness. He would probably logically take a minute or two scraping under his fingernails because cleanliness was very important to Vulcans, and what do you mean this is not the time, Jim? Illogical. The good doctor knows what he’s doing. 

It was a pretty flawless glare, and Jim envies him for it. Bones gets tightlipped with this one and doesn’t even make eye contact, which is so not like him. Jim wonders if Chapel can replace his bedpan. 

Jim internally clears his throat, readying himself for the blow. “Bones, my most brilliant chief medical officer, my best friend, my brother…” 

Jim hiccups when a knife is thrusted up against his throat, and he whistles when he notices that Bones didn’t even look. 

“You so help me say one more damn word, I’m cutting your carotid artery,” Bones hisses. He peers over Jim and squints his eyes. “You able to turn off that computer of yours?” 

It was an empty question with Jim knowing he isn’t meant to answer. Spock still hasn’t said anything. Maybe he will let Bones kill him. 

Then, Bones removes the weapon and cleanly slides it into his pocket. He brings out his PADD and stiffly turns to Jim. “First things first, are you in pain?” 

“No, Bones-“

“That’s Dr. McCoy, you little rodent.” 

“Forcing me to call you Dr. McCoy is mutiny-“ 

“Any pressure in your left eye?” 

“No, I barely feel it-“ 

“Are you experiencing memory loss?” 

Jim sighs, giving up on trying to make amends. Bones was way too pissed. “No. I remember everything.” 

Bones takes a minute to shoot Jim a dirty look, and Jim sees some hope now that the dreadful glare has faded away. 

“You remember everything, huh?” 

Jim hitches his breath. That tone was not at all sweet. Uh-oh. His brain screams at him, ‘This is a trap! Trap! Trap!’ 

“Y-yes,” he refuses to admit he squeaks. 

“How about code 56E, that I brought to your attention when you first came to me ordering me to sign to be your chief medical officer? The – now Spock, please, correct me if I have this wrong – that the Captain shall acknowledge that his Chief Medical Officer’s first and ultimate priority is to keep him safe and out of danger…” 

“Bones-“ 

“And to always take his Chief Medical Officer, who by the way has been a doctor for 15 years which makes me smarter than you when it comes to safety, and his opinions on safety precautions to account. If appointed Chief Medical Officer declares an assignment to being dangerous with no guarantee that that Captain will be safe, and he or she can ban said Captain from proceeding on a mission.”

Jim bites his lip. 

“So, Jim, please help me recall what exactly you said when I declared the mission unsafe for your wellbeing?” 

Jim shakes his head. He hears a horrifying scream somewhere in the sickbay followed by a hiss from Nurse Chapel. Bones doesn’t even blink. 

“Commander?” 

Jim cuts in before Spock can, “I said, ‘Screw you, Bones. I do what I want.’”

Bones grunts in annoyance, harshly tossing his PADD on his desk. He puts his hands on his hips, before turning to look at Jim again. His hazel eyes are less harsh and scrutinizing as he calmly speaks, “I’m getting too old for this, kid. You’re going to give me a damn heart attack one of these days. I’m one more bringing you back to life from leaving this hell you call space.” 

Jim straightens immediately and barks, “You are not leaving me, Bones.” 

Bones rolls his eyes, giving Jim a deadpan look, “Cut the authoritative bullshit. You don’t scare me. That’s why I’m your Chief Medical Officer. I’m not scared of your tantrums, kid.” 

Jim doesn’t loosen his posture, causing Bones to huff, “I’m not leaving you, Jim. I wouldn’t do that. Who’s going to make sure you live to see another day? You think I can trust someone else to do that?”

Jim looks away, then, not knowing how to respond to the vulnerable words. He hates letting himself open up like this. This brings weakness to the front, and he hates the idea of the people he’s allowed close to him to have any power over him. 

But this was Bones. Bones was reaching out, begging for him to realize that he cares about him. Bones wants him alive and breathing, and he knows he makes that extremely difficult. His whole life he didn’t blink an eye at dangerous situations, because he had nothing to live for. He had the clothes on his back and his name rooting for him. His name has probably saved him as many times as Bones has. 

No, that’s not true. 

Now, he has a bond mate and a best friend. They are the triumvirate. They are the most feared trio in the galaxies. Spock was dense muscle with a tricky whirlwind of logic and emotional outbursts when provoked, especially when beings close to him are harmed and or insulted. Bones was ill-tempered and medically skilled with a loud southern mouth, who can probably find a way to stop one’s heart with a simple acetaminophen pill. Jim was a street-learned assailant with an absurd IQ, who can make a bomb out of bamboo and diamonds. They are a force to be reckoned with. 

The only thing Jim didn’t learn from the streets was that sometimes you stumble across people who you can actually trust and who want to help you. 

This is why Jim grits his teeth and huffs, “I’m sorry, Bones. I don’t mean to stress you out.” 

Jim watches Bones freeze, surely surprised by Jim’s apology as Jim, himself, is. Bones doesn’t comment on it, and Jim mentally thanks him for not doing so. It’s one thing to apologize, but it’s an entirely new thing when the recipient wants to acknowledge it with an unnecessary response. 

Jim must have cracked the hardened shell, because Bones becomes calmer and gentler with his methods. Jim doesn’t fuss when he checks his vitals and his overall wellbeing. Jim takes a few chances to glance at Spock, but the Vulcan only seems to be merely watching quietly. Spock may have efficiently blocked Jim from his every thought, but he can still practically feel the fire streaming out of his pointy ears. 

Jim peers up at Bones, when he notices the good doctor holding up a mirror. If he didn’t know better, he would guess Bones looks proud? Snooty? 

“Unlike you, who has the biggest ego I’ve ever witnessed, I should get an award for what I had to work with,” Bones grunts arrogantly. 

Jim tries not to flinch when Bones leans over to take off the eye patch he had apparently been wearing. Jim must have gallons of morphine because he honestly did not know that was there, and he now understands how he wasn’t able to see anything from his left eye. 

He glares suspiciously up at his CMO, blinking the fog out of his wounded eye. It fades away into 20/20 vision, and he experimentally looks around the room in awe. He could possibly say he can see better than ever before. 

“Now, don’t get cocky. That’s not your eye.” 

His eyebrow twitches upwards, and he spins his head around to stare into the outstretched mirror. He gingerly grabs the handle to hold it himself, tilting his head to see from every angle. 

His right eye now glows red. 

He looks fucking terrifying. 

“Bones…” Jim drawls. He gives his friend a toothy grin. “You are a miracle worker. You should be promoted to…” 

“ _De_ moted to an ideal position on Earth. I get what you’re trying to say,” Bones corrects. A smug grows on his cracked lips. “Though, I do appreciate the 200 credits from Sulu that the operation goes smoothly. Those bastards sure do scream though. Nearly went deaf.” 

Jim wishes he could’ve seen it. The blood, the screaming, cutting, cursing from Bones, etc. Adrenaline pumps through his veins at getting the footage from security. 

He checks back at himself, unable to hide the sinister smile playing on his lips. 

Ever since he was a child he knew he was different. His sense of humor was off. He rarely smiled. The moment his mother left him on Tarsus IV was when his child façade wore off. He no longer fake smiled at his peers, his patience belittled into nothing, his sly remarks skyrocketed in numbers. 

He started to accept his darker methods of action. What he found amusing became more obvious, and it helped deter enemies from bothering him and the other kids he gave in to helping. He knew it would be unsettling and highly suspicious if he were to be the only kid found alive once Starfleet finally got their asses over there. 

The absence of hesitancy with a gun in his hand brought fear in Kodos’ guard’s eyes, showing them that he wasn’t a kid to fuck with. A more confident guard tried to overpower him, but that led to his lifeless body cut into approximately sixteen pieces at Kodos’ front door. 

He remembers smiling at the frightened screams as he walks away with two bags full of food. 

Once returning back to civilization, he progressed into his past self. Pretending to understand sympathy, hiding his dark thoughts, hiding his growing insanity. It was Spock, who drew the darkness out like a moth to a lightbulb. He left Spock a different person, but he struggled to withhold the person Spock forced him to face. 

He learned to imitate actions. Hugging was the hardest to learn due to his time on Tarsus IV, but that said reason was why no one questioned his inability to hug properly back. He soon realized that maybe Tarsus IV did him a favor. Giving the world an excuse for his ominous behavior. 

Once he became captain, he no longer had to hide who he was. He had coughed up a crooked laugh at the aspect that one day James Tiberius Kirk was the abused, reckless son of the famous George Kirk turned into the infamous Captain Kirk the next day, who murdered to get to where he was. 

All his life he hid his impending vicious, damnable side to fit into normal civilization. Now, looking at blood red eyeball in his skull stolen from a member of another race in cold blood, he flashes a corrupt smile at himself. 

His dwindling sanity now shown on the outside, rather than hidden and shoved inside. 

He doesn’t hear Bones walk out, surely to tell whoever crying to shut the hell up. 

He flinches when Spock finally stirs, taking a long look at Jim before heading to the door. Jim furrows his eyebrows, mustering all his strength to do one last heavy strike against Spock’s walls. 

“Spock,” his voice booms. Spock startles to a stop, but he doesn’t turn back to Jim. 

Jim tilts his head, calculating Spock’s thoughts and actions. Something he hasn’t needed to do in years due to him being able to rely on simply reading Spock’s literal mind. 

Now, having to rely on his instincts and intellect, Jim scrutinizes Spock’s form. There are many factors to delve into including: Spock’s refusal to look at Jim, Spock blocking his mind from him, stiff shoulders, tense muscles, silence throughout Bones’ scolding. 

It took many years to read Spock’s behavior, starting from when they first met. Being fresh off a hostile planet changes a person’s ability to socialize, but there are many little ticks he’s learned about his now first officer and bond mate. 

His eyebrows twitches when he is trying to suppress his irritability. The corner of his lip moves when he found something amusing or ‘fascinating’. He tilts his head when he is uncomfortable. His fingers move slightly when he wants to touch Jim. 

It was enamoring characteristics of his bond mate, and he wonders how anyone can believe Vulcans are unreadable and emotionless. Just observe them for like two hours max, and you can eventually read them like a book. 

Due to Spock’s silence and refusal to make eye contact, Jim easily figures that his bond mate is pissed at him for the same reason Bones was. His inability to stay out of danger, when there are so many other people willing to do the same thing. It was ‘illogical’ to send a captain out to a dangerous encounter rather than the hundreds of security personnel, who trained to do those exact missions. 

Jim didn’t get gifted the title of being the most brutal, sinister captain in history by hiding behind his crew. 

The logical Vulcan route to get his bond mate to stop being angry with him was not the correct option. It was then, simply, the emotional human route. 

“Spock…Ashalik…” Jim softly murmurs in the quiet room. He spots Spock’s ears flinch, and he smiles. He erases his earlier angry emotions, replacing them with gentle, loving nudges to the Vulcan’s walls. He feels the walls up, working to surround the area with affection. 

He’s relieved when he senses a hint of tension lessening, drawing Jim’s mind closer. Spock’s mind calls for him, and Jim happily obliges. He sinks images of kissing Spock, running his fingers along his lips and down to his knuckles and wrist into the bond. Spock’s walls crumble to pieces, and Jim caresses him telepathically. 

“Ashayam…I-I,” Spock halts his words as if to catch himself. He shakes his head before straightening into a stiff board again, but this time he doesn’t push Jim out. 

“Captain, you will cease your mutinous actions. This prior mission did not hold the necessity of your presence, as it induced the endangerment of both you and the chief medical officer. It is illogical to dispatch such vital crew members responsible for the survival of the entirety of the ship altogether in one mission. Such assignment includes the parameter being the matured security personnel, and not the presence of the captain and-“ 

Jim sighs, “Spock, I get it. You don’t want me going on dangerous assignments when there are other crewmembers ready to go instead. It’s not logical. I get it.” 

The room is silent again, and Jim waits patiently. He knows Spock will break any second. 

7.5 seconds. 

“T’hy’la,” Spock whispers as he turns around to stand over Jim. His brown eyes gloss with intense human emotion, and Jim grabs for his hands. “Please, I cannot lose you over a mission that your attendance was not necessary. I will accompany the landing crew when a department head is required.” 

Jim instinctively squeeze Spock’s two fingers that he has been caressing, and he apologizes quickly after with Vulcan kisses. He hates how much Spock forces him to open up. “You are not going where I’m not. I need you, Spock. Our ship needs you. I won’t grant it.” 

Spock tilts his head and raises an eyebrow in irritability. “Then, I speculate we are at a standstill,” he theorizes. 

You cease to exist, I am no more.

Jim’s mouth runs dry at the declaration, heart beating rapidly against his chest cavity. His default forms up a joke. 

_**Kinda hot to imagine you going stir crazy and murdering an entire species for the loss of my life.** _

_I have identified and grasped your regard for me. You need not to verbalize with words._

_**You know me too well, Spock.** _

Jim angles his head to accommodate a kiss. 

**************

If Spock followed the arts of pre-Surak, he would address the rising of his blood pressure and identify the reaction to being anger, hurt, or betrayal. 

Harmonious sounds of skin hitting skin from the humans around him in response to the defeat of the Kobayashi Maru by the smirking cadet seated in the pseudo black captain chair in the middle of the room surround him. 

“How did that kid beat your test?” a cadet asks in awe. 

Spock keeps a neutral expression as said cadet smiles cockily at him as he bites into his apple. He involuntarily brings his hands into firm fists. 

Jim Kirk sits idly in the fake captain chair, spinning himself in circles with the biggest knowing smile Spock has ever seen on him. It only feeds the fire inside him, cutting their link harshly with a metaphorical bang. 

Kirk catches his eye, hardening his stare in disapproval at the abrupt end of their connection. Spock ignores him, using Jim’s two greatest weaknesses against him. 

He does not care for being ignored, and he hates when he cannot reach Spock telepathically. 

Spock storms to his computer, immediately opening the code for the test. It appears to be the same, but Spock takes a seat to look harder. 

There has to be an extra few statements, added semicolon, a hidden comment. It cannot be difficult to find, considering Jim was not a subtle human being. He was not one to condense his work in ways for others to understand. He takes the longer route in solving a solution, because he knows everyone takes the shorter route. No one expects him to be different. 

The muscles in the Vulcan’s eyes twitch when he finally finds the breach deep within the code. It effectively stops the subset, that is to continuously cause the Kobayashi Maru to deliver obstacle after obstacle until the routine ends with failure. 

It is elegantly written with no mistakes made, blending into the original code. Knowing his bond mate, he takes a look at the comments under the new lines, ceasing to show his human side by the roll of his orbs once he sees that there is indeed. 

‘Kiss my ass.’

Spock furrows his eyebrows, speculating why Jim would want Spock to kiss his gluteus maximus. He remembers hearing a few other cadets reciting the same phrase to each other with laughter and supposed anger. 

Ah, Jim was annoyed with his test. What an illogical statement to be made. 

Spock closes the computer, experiencing a sense of betrayal and hurt. Jim did not inform him of his changes, nor did he acknowledge that Spock has worked on this assessment to the point of perfection for two years. Spock had explained on many counts on how important it was for captains to realize that things will not always go as planned, and to witness failure is inevitable. 

Jim did not agree. 

Jim went on and betrayed Spock’s trust and hacked into his PADD to change the code to his desire. 

The screen beeps in protest to the weight of Spock’s relentless finger. He realizes a few humans are looking at him in worry. 

When did Jim hack him?

It had to been after 1800 the night prior and before 700 this morning. 

Hypnotic sedation by means of injection.

Negative. Jim would not go anywhere near a hypo, nor would Spock not realize and halt his bond mate’s moves. 

Occupy by means of tedious chores. 

Negative. They consumed a nutritional meal, engaged in coitus, and then retired to state of unconsciousness. Nothing was out of the ordinary schedule, though, he can admit Jim’s thoughts were more chaotic and unclear than normal. Not once in their sharing evening was Spock able to pinpoint a specific thought. 

One moment he was thinking about a difficult professor, then he was having explicit dreams about Spock, then he was pondering about the ship he will win over one day, his homework assignments he was planning on shoving up the posteriors of his professors, Gary and their bet they created, who will be his department heads, etc. No thought lasted longer than approximately 4.58 seconds, and no group of thoughts seemed to have any correlation. 

He almost questioned Jim’s extreme lack of control, but then the human offered him a mug of herb tea with a smooth kiss to the lips. It struck Spock speechless and his blood to go rushing to his ears. 

It was a unique substance with a content taste, bland enough for his taste buds to endure. Jim made it himself with the help of Sulu, and he used adequate amounts of Vulcan herbs and plants. Jim even provided him another cup this morning- 

Spock strikes cold when another theory enters in his mind. 

Inebriation. 

Spock is out of his chair in a flash, causing a young cadet to shout in surprise. He gives no display of response, storming over to the location of his cup. He has only ingested approximately 8.53 milliliters of the drink, and he illogically glares at the dish in suspicion. 

Its characteristics are normal. It holds a brown hue with a mixture of smells identifying the ingredients the human used. Nothing stood out, but Spock finds himself recalling a Terran phrase, ‘Don’t just a book by its cover.’

The answer is not obvious in pure observation, so his next step is to make his way to the science department and inform a willing cadet to find the exact ingredients and the amounts of. 

The lights of the Kobayashi Maru arena shuts off, and Spock peers up in time to make eye contact with an acquaintance of his infuriating bond mate. 

Doctor Leonard McCoy. 

An option not as thorough, but it will lessen in time by 1 hour and 384 seconds. 

Having done research on Leonard McCoy, he knows the human will be returning to his position in the medical department as senior physician. He shall interrogate him there. 

He is well aware of Jim’s intention to make McCoy his chief medical officer. The doctor has all of Jim’s allergies and history intel listed in his files. He recalls the exact moment Jim announced that he will be informing Leonard McCoy of his history on Tarsus IV. They were engaging in a game of chess in Spock’s quarters. Spock was hypothesized Jim gaining his bishop and knight in four steps. It was yet another game Jim will be winning. They are at a 9:5 ratio. 

Spock calculated an outburst from Jim when the human did not say a single word during the progressing game. He merely waited patiently, not desiring to stress his bond mate. 

Jim’s words come out harsh and with power that restricted any commentary. 

“I’m going to send my medical files to Bones.” 

Spock checkmates in retaliation. “Doctor Leonard McCoy exhibits a substantial degree of animosity towards space with absolute no management over his negative emotions.” 

“Yup.” 

Well, there’s that.

The doors of the medical division slide upon his arrival. The computer does not lie upon the location of the good doctor, and Spock maneuvers to his office. He’s greeted with a scowl, though, McCoy neutrally had looked at him for 2.56 seconds before displaying the scowl. 

His arrival was not a surprise. 

“What on God’s green earth, do you want?” 

Spock places his contaminated cup onto the doctor’s desk with a minor glare. “I want a full report on the ingredients laced in this substance.” 

McCoy glances at the mug with an exasperated look, “It’s insulting to know you think I have time to do that. I run a whole damn medical department.” 

Spock raises an eyebrow, “I will go to your supervisor and inform him of your unorderly misconduct.” 

“And I’m sure he’ll be delighted to know that his prized Vulcan wants to stop all medical plans for the day to save lives in order to find out what’s in his goddamn tea.” 

“I doubt the admiral would experience delight at such actions-“ 

“Oh my God,” Bones growls out, snatching the mug and bringing it to his face. “You are an unyielding toddler when you want to be. You and Jim deserve each other.” 

Spock watches as the doctor wafts to catch the odor of the drink, biting his tongue when he observes McCoy grimacing at the foul smell. Terrans tended to prefer less strong spices. McCoy sets the cup down with a grunt and looks back at his computer, “It smells like any other normal disgusting Vulcan drink.” 

Growing up in an emotion-suppressing environment and coming home to a very emotional mother helped Spock distinguish many small signs that gave away a human’s supposedly concealed thoughts. A jolt of the muscles of a nose meant they are experiencing disgust. Running one’s tongue over their lips meant a variety of things containing thirst, sexual desire, or nervousness. Touching one’s own hair meant disinterest or discomfort. 

Mix these observations with the unique characteristics of a Terran, and then use these factors to calculate how they react to such events and situations. For example, Leonard McCoy was massively forward and blunt with his words. Never wavering. 

McCoy’s loss of need to create eye contact was not normal, standard behavior. 

Spock squints at him, “You are lying.” 

The fact that the good doctor does not snap at him for disagreeing with him was another giveaway. McCoy waves at the mug with disinterest, “What do you what me to say, Spock? Dammit, man, I’m a doctor not a nutritionist. It smells like a shit ton of leaves, soil, and I suppose…” 

Spock halts at the delay. He speculates the other man’s body language, noticing that he was no longer pretending to be busy with his work. McCoy was now admiring the dish on his desk with uneasy openness, and his eyes express mischievousness and treacherous amusement. His hazel eyes fly up to Spock. 

“Cocoa beans.” 

Spock stiffens at the declared statement, confirming his suspicions of his bond mate’s dishonesty. He offhandedly shuts off their connection, and he is instantly met with glee and disapproval. His unstable mental state drives him blind, and he walks heatedly out of McCoy’s office. He ignores the doctor’s outburst to “leave him out of their lover’s quarrel”.

He walks across the campus, hardly registering cadets acknowledging him with greetings or questions. They lose confidence in approaching him once he’s shoved his way past three persons. 

He gains curious looks when he walks into the dorm building. He pays no one any mind as he makes his way to his destination. He is not trouble with needing to get his presence known, because the person in question opens the door with ease. A huge grin on his plush lips. 

“Commander Spock! Such a pleasure to see you. What brings you in – hey!” 

Spock maneuvers his way past his bond mate’s form, slamming his hand on the computer to close the door with a lock. He never ceases eye contact with his smirking mate. 

“You intoxicated my person to hinder my thinking process in order for you to gain access the code of Kobayashi Maru. You not only ignored the point behind of the command exercise, but you betrayed me.” 

“What?” Kirk gawks at the accusation. “How would I ever do that?” 

“Do not play coy,” Spock grits out harshly. He studies the Terran in front of him, noting the lethargic bluff. “You placed cocoa into the substance you made for me in order to inebriate me.” 

Kirk slumps his shoulders, pouting with his lower lip, widening his eyelids to show off more of his light blue eyes innocently. He reaches out for Spock’s person, “Spock, you think I would do that to you?” 

Spock surprises Jim by grasping his clothes wrists, careful not to touch the skin. He responds coldly, “You seem to forget my expertise on you. I know you would defeat any obstacle to gain, and I realize harming me is not an issue.” 

Jim furrows his eyebrows, eyes darkening, ridding all innocence from seconds prior. “Oh my God, I made you go to sleep.” 

“By betraying the trust I have for you and threatening the dynamics and parameter of this relationship.” 

“We agreed not to cause physical harm to each other, and Bones said it wouldn’t hurt you in any way.” 

“Non-consented harm of any sorts including mental,” Spock fires back. He raises an eyebrow. “I did not realize you and Doctor Leonard McCoy were planning against my person. The statement questions my placement in this triumvirate. Why is my presence truly necessary in this arrangement?” 

Spock brings his hands behind his back when suddenly Jim’s emotions overwhelm him, shoving against the walls of his mind. Anger. Annoyance. Sad. Hurt. 

Blue eyes pierce into Spock, and Kirk hisses, “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It was never planned to drug you. I didn’t think you’d be here, since all you seem to do is go on dates with your girlfriend.” 

The way Jim spits out the word girlfriend hits Spock in a way that leads to his mate’s success at breaking another hole into his walls. The thoughts making through the crumbles are being overrun with hurt. The anger and sadness laces like rope around the hurt, advances the ferocity. 

Spock reaches out with a gentle hand, but coils when Jim smacks it away. Spock sighs patiently, “I believe you have misinterpreted my intentions of my scheduled appointments with Nyota Uhura.” 

“ _Nyota_ Uhura?” Jim grits with a warning. “We have a first name now?” 

“I have no comment on the matter, Jim,” Spock responds with tranquility. “I have classified her as an excellent communications officer for your captaincy.” He eyes Jim’s left hand twitching to his back pocket, where he knows he keeps his sharpest dagger. The Vulcan is not threatened by the glaring admonition. No matter how angry the human has gotten, he’s never deliberately harmed him.

Wild fire warms the remaining of the block between their mental bond, and he hesitates to alleviate Jim’s impending outburst. He works to collect and organize his thoughts, and he straightens his posture as he allows his walls to collapse under Jim’s weight. 

He gasps at the extreme mass of flowing commotion, greedily clawing through his headspace. His back hits the wall before he realizes he’s moving, and he’s soon after staring into paralyzing ocean blue eyes. They dig into him, along with the stern hands holding him down. A bony elbow cuts into his upper chest, and strong, unrelenting hands force his head into stillness, and Spock finds himself unable to move if he wanted to. 

His mind and thoughts are picked apart, speculated in every angle by Jim’s unwavering dominance. Jim searches his subconscious, inspecting through Spock’s eyes. Spock grows breathless as Jim powers through his past experiences, conversations, thoughts, emotions, etc. Jim works through his Commander studies and struggles with inexperienced cadets. A spark of amusement pops when Jim witnesses a certain fiasco, when an Andorian male cadet did not understand the simple semantics behind warp core functionality. 

Spock struggles to control his body movements, the muscles in his chin twitching as Jim grows closer to his goal destination. He becomes concerned once Jim begins to swerve faster around his mind, seeming to trail right behind what he is looking for. 

Jim’s hold on him hardens, muscles bulging in his biceps and triceps. Spock tries to keep track on where Jim was going. 

Spock’s classes, office hours, helping and advising students with their papers, important and classified meeting with Starfleet admiralty, TA obligations…

Spock tenses on instinct, realizing what Jim was looking for. 

Flashes of conversations privately shared with Lieutenant Uhura pop into his line of vision. Careful, intellectual one-on-one conversations, late night assignments, acquaintances sliding into a shape of friendship, trust and honesty forming through time and shared interests. Anger that doesn’t belong to him jolts through his body when Jim spots a time Uhura blatantly ran a finger along Spock’s right arm. Jim mentally draws back, and Spock hurriedly shows him rejecting her and explaining he has a bond mate. He realizes 5 months 3 weeks 5 days and 4 hours into their formed friendship, Nyota intentionally made physical contact with him when she inappropriately touched his hand in parting. 

Spock gasps for air once Jim withdraws from their connection. He pants, “Jim.” 

Jim presses his hot body up against Spock’s, yanking the Vulcan’s head to the side by his short, black hair. Spock controls the pain radiating from the impact. He suppresses a shiver when Jim leans up to speak lowly into his ear. 

“She was first attracted to you by your hard shell, domineering, cold exterior. She likes the way you play hard to get, which is extremely laughable,” Jim taunts, licking his lips. Spock sucks in a breath when Jim leans forward, running his tongue along his neckline. His Vulcan control wavers, and he tilts his head, falling apart in Jim’s hands. 

The demanding hand slithers down to wrap around his neck, tilting his face to aim upwards, but Spock is still able to keep consistent eye contact. Mischievous blue eyes pierce back at him, and he’s overwhelmed with Jim’s sexual desire pouring out of him. Memories of Jim taking him in various situations and positions overwhelm his senses. 

Many times including when Jim fucked him mercilessly on his office’s desk during office hours, forcing him to send cadets away with promises to advise them later with a shaky, hoarse voice. 

Spock hardens at the memory, ears and cheeks blushing green. He whimpers when his neck is bitten and sucked, and he involuntarily bucks when Jim wedges his leg between his own. 

“What would Uhura think of you if she saw you like this? Humping my leg like a bitch in heat.” 

He loses all train of thought when Jim takes his left hand, bringing two fingers between his lips and laving them with his tongue. Spock’s knees buckle as he moans uncontrollably at the hot sensation of Jim’s scandalous action of his warm mouth on his sensitive appendixes. 

“Does she know how much of a slut you are? How fast you’d get on your knees for the most irritating human in the galaxy? Does she know you are mine…mind, spirit, and body?” 

“Yes,” Spock chokes out, preening under the touches. “She knows I belong to another.” 

Spock is frozen, conflicting with all the pleasures of the flesh that coincides together including the superb leg Jim lets him rut on. His mouth gapes for air as a warm, wet tongue curls around them. His cock is hot and heavy, completely emerged from its pouch to the stimulation. It pushes against his regulation Starfleet pants, and he whimpers his bond mate’s name repeatedly, hoping Jim knows what he’s begging for. 

Jim withdraws his leg, which is not what Spock wants. He protests immediately, using his free hand to pull his mate close to him again. 

Jim leans down and snatches a nipple into his mouth, biting the bud into full erection. Spock shakes from the fondling, Jim’s name slipping through his lips in prayer. He shivers when Jim stands to whisper in his ear, “I need you to do one more thing for me, Commander. One more thing and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“Anything…ashayam… taluhk nash-veh k’dular…” 

“Take off your clothes and get on all fours on the bed,” Jim orders with bated breath. 

Spock moves with little to no coordination to the bed, removing his shirt and his pants. His boxers are the last to go, and he arranges to Jim’s liking on the bed. The room is silent except for the small smacks of Jim’s feet on the floor heading leisurely to him. Spock arches his back in the way Jim approves, jolting when his hard cock makes contact with the bed. He grinds down for the friction, grunting when strong hands pull his body up to stop the action. 

He shouts in surprise when a hand smacks the right side of his ass. 

“You think you deserve to get off? You think you have more control over your body than me, Commander?” 

“N-No, Jim-“ 

“Who?” 

Spock jumps when Jim lands another smack, followed through with two slicks fingers plunging into his hole. He gasps, “No, Captain.” 

“That’s more like it,” Jim approves with a grin. Spock’s forearms shake once the relentless fingers scissor harshly inside him. Teeth mark up his back, and Spock gets a flash of what Jim sees. His back is blemished with hickeys and prominent bite marks. Scratch marks show on his fair, light green skin on his hips, and Spock feels Jim’s ego and amusement accelerating. Jim was always a possessive creature. 

Spock perks up at a whistle. “I would love to hear what Uhura would have to say if she saw you like this. Pliant, submissive, eager to do anything in order to get fucked. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To get fucked, Spock? I’m still deciding whether to let you cum or not.” 

“P-Please…Jim – Ah!” Spock is cut off when Jim’s pointer finger arches up, hitting the spot inside him that has him seeing the stars in the sky. His body twists and turns in pleasure, whimpers and shouts of bliss flood the room. Spock works to gain a breath, but Jim doesn’t let him. 

Another finger is added to the bunch, moist with the wet substance from Spock’s drenched sheath. The fingers slide fast in and out, punching pleas and uh-uh’s from Spock’s lips. Spock hisses when suddenly a free hand claws down his back. 

“Such a beautiful back, Spock, though I think it needs a little something.” 

Please don’t tease me, t’hy’la…I will do anything for you. What you desire of me is yours.

Spock wails when the penetration is halted, and he tries to follow Jim’s fingers in hopes for continuation. He jolts when he’s smacked again, and he groans in impatience and need. 

A demanding hand runs along his genital pouch for more moisture, and the head of Jim’s cock presses against the rim of Spock’s hole. Spock begs absentmindedly, pushing back for his bond mate’s touch. 

A cold finger trails a route down his spine. Spock shivers. 

I want my name on your back. I want it burnt into your skin for all to see. You are mine. 

In the haste of the situation, Spock blindly agrees. 

Yes, t’hy’la, for I am yours in every way. I am yours and you are mine. 

Spock shouts in pain and pleasure when he’s suddenly impaled on Jim’s cock. Jim is achingly hot as he enters his body, despite how normally hot Spock’s body is. Demanding, unforgiving hands grab onto his hips, and nails dig ruthlessly into his skin. Spock arches his back when Jim’s pelvis comes in contact with his bare ass, letting out a moan when the angle isn’t right. He theorizes his mate does this on purpose, as Jim looms over him and presses his face into his neck. Spock can feel a dark smile on his handsome to face.

Jim mouths at Spock’s sweat-drenched neck, sucking and biting to form hickeys with grunting, “Fuck.” Spock had originally wondered why Jim was so determined to leave bruises on his skin. There was no logical reasoning for them, since he was Jim’s until the end of their days. 

He understood when a meeting with Starfleet admirals concluded, and Captain Christopher Pike had cautioned to be more aware of his attire. Spock had peered at himself in the mirror to find distinguishing dark green hickeys just above his collar. His ears immediately had turned olive green in humility, which was expected. 

His erection was not.

“J-Jim,” Spock mewls as Jim withdraws himself to the head of his cock catching his rim. “Jim, please cease removing your being from my person.” 

A dark chuckle radiates from Jim’s throat, “You want my cock, sweetheart?” 

Spock digs his face into the pillows, hiding the effect the vernacular has on him. The hands grip him harder. 

“I asked you a question, Commander.” 

The hairs on the back of Spock’s neck raises up and he shudders, “Y-Yes, Jim.” 

“No,” Jim growls out, grabbing Spock’s black hair back forcefully. Spock keens. “Say it.” 

Spock parts his lips to speak, but the torment of Jim’s strong emotions seeping through the touches overwhelm him. They’re powerful and unrelentingly chaotic, fogging Spock’s cognitive thinking process. He cannot speak, but a gasp is forced out of him when Jim completely removes himself and submits Spock onto his back. 

Icy blue eyes stare at him darkly, and Spock moans, arching his back when Jim enters him to the hilt. Spock moans loud, moving his lower body when Jim doesn’t move. He croaks, “Jim…please.” 

Spock’s hair is grabbed again, tilting his head to the right to let Jim whisper menacingly into his ear, “That’s more like it. _Beg_.” 

Spock cries out in pleasure when Jim pulls out in order to slam back in, hitting the spot deep inside his body. Suffocating heat spread up his body, causing a tingling sensation in his toes and fingers. “Jim! Please… _please_ , Jim.” 

He continues to call out his mate’s name until Jim slams his lips against his, effectively silencing him. The thrusts become erratic and sloppy, but delivering harsh hits on Spock’s prostrate. Their kiss including all tongue and teeth, and Spock feels himself about to reach his climax. 

Then, Jim grabs one of his hands, bringing it to his own face. Jim maneuvers Spock’s fingers to his psi-points, and Spock gasps at the slam of lawless emotions. He feels Jim’s becoming orgasm, mixing with Spock’s own pleasure. 

“You feel me, sweetheart?” 

Spock does not answer, put in silence by Jim’s onslaught of thoughts and emotions. Jim’s mind is beautiful, chaotic, yet perfectly organized in its own way. It slides into place with Spock’s, and he observes firsthand Jim’s feelings for him. His love and loyalty burns deep into him, and it swirls around his mind. 

He orgasms at the same time Jim does, both of them experiencing their own and the other’s pleasures. Spock takes back his hand when Jim removes his spent cock. Jim gets off the bed, giving Spock a grin with eyes full of emotion Jim would never describe in words. 

Jim leaves for a moment and comes back with a wet cloth and hands it to Spock, who cleans himself thoroughly. Jim watches him with glistening eyes.

Spock begins to get dressed, kissing Jim once he’s done. Jim goes to deepen it, and Spock obliges him. 

A knock sounds from the door, causing the kiss to break. Spock looks at the door, and then back at Jim. He grows unsettled when a spark shines in Jim’s eye and the corner of his lips twitch. Spock raises an eyebrow.

Jim’s facial features return to normal, giving Spock a charming grin. He trails a finger up Spock’s uniformed shirt. “Will you answer that? I have to clean myself up. It’s just Bones coming to drink after his shift.” 

“Affirmative,” Spock agrees, watching carefully as Jim enters the bathroom. Spock walks to the door and opens it, preparing for the relenting comments from the doctor.

It is not the doctor.

Spock sucks in a deep breath the same time Uhura widens her eyes in shock. 

Both of them are speechless, and Spock knows she’s taking every detail of his appearance. His flustered cheeks, green tipped ears, the not so hidden hickeys, etc. She was reading him. Unfortunately, that’s what she’s best at.

Spock schools his features, “Nyota-“

“That’s your name!” 

Spock closes his eyes in disbelief of the immaturity of his bondmate. He turns around and his jaw clenches when Jim walks out of his bathroom with nothing but his cadet pants, which were crumpled with a belt undone.

His mate was smirking at the two of them. His eyes gleam with amusement and trickery, and Spock spots his Commander hat hanging on his finger. Jim raises an eyebrow with the biggest smirk Spock has ever witnessed on his mate.

“Think you forgot your hat, Commander.” 

Spock breathes heavily now, flaring his nose in irritation. He gives his mate a glare, peering back at a shocked Uhura. Her cheeks are hot with embarrassment, and Spock finds that he cannot meet her eyes.

“I’m..I’m going to go, Commander,” she excuses herself. “I…Bye.” 

Spock looks back at Jim, who now leans leisurely against the wall. “You deliberately scheduled two appointments within the same time parameter.” 

“Whoops?” 

***********

His back is on fire, as if the torment never ended. Fire radiates from his waistline to inches below his shoulders, and his spine is a rollercoaster of pain. It soothes slightly as a wet moisture lathers it, drenching the pain to a minimum.

“I’d fuck you right now, but I fear I’ll want to cum on it. Can’t have it getting infected.” 

Spock turns his face, leaning his cheek on the bed. He spots Jim’s facial features, and he immediately feels his cheeks warm up. Jim sends him what he sees through the bond, also informing of his growing bulge. 

His name shines in leather black letters on Spock’s back, glistening with blood and lotion. Spock shivers when Jim runs a finger close to it, though, not quite touching. 

My teeth will be digging into you the moment it’s healed.

Jim walks into Spock’s line of vision, kneeling down to meet his eye. Darkness swims in his blue eyes – darkness similar, yet stronger than the darkness Spock originally saw deep inside his head. It’s grown significantly since that day, and Spock preens under the attention.

“Now, everyone who looks at you will know you’re mine.” 

“Affirmative.”


End file.
